


wherever you're going, i'm going your way

by dollsome



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-29 10:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14470659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: It's Luke and Lorelai's wedding day, and Rory's got a whole lot to figure out. And a certain someone she can't seem to forget. Set immediately after "Fall."





	1. Lorelai

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this shortly after the revival aired, and -- as you can see -- it's taken me genuinely forever! This has basically been a Google doc for me to mull over my complicated AYITL's-treatment-of-Rory feelings in for the past many many months, and it is essentially just the happily ever after that I wish we could've seen in the revival.
> 
> I think there are probably a bunch of compelling and more complicated ways the Rory/Logan situation could be resolved over a longer span of time, but I basically conceptualized this as "What if the revival went on for about a half hour longer and gave Rory and Logan a happy ending?", so it is, for the most part, Rory grappling with a lot of internal strife on Luke and Lorelai's wedding day and starting to figure things out through conversations with the people she loves.
> 
> There are three very-close-to-finished future installments of this tale which should hopefully come your way quite soon! (For those of you who've been reading The Best of It since 2012, well, just try to pretend you believe me!)

It’s quiet for a long time. Maybe the longest time in recorded history.

Then--

“Is it the wookiee’s?” Lorelai asks.

“What?” Rory says.

“The wookiee, the one-night-stand wookiee. Is it the wookiee’s?”

Gross.

“No! That was months ago. If it was the wookiee, you’d know because the little wookiee would have fattened me up by now.”

“Oh yeah,” Lorelai says. “Right. So then it’s ...”

“Logan’s,” Rory confirms, staring down at her hands. This moment feels like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. On the dream side: the town square looks like a fairytale, even in the daylight. Exactly the kind of beautiful that her mom and Luke have earned. On the nightmare side: this is happening. This is really happening to her. To _her_. If anyone in the world was supposed to have known better, it was Rory Gilmore. Her whole life was designed around knowing better.

Not designed well enough.

“Have you told him?” says Lorelai.

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, Rory—”

Rory pictures Logan’s face--which is weird, because of course she can’t tell him in person. She can’t just jet off to London to ruin his life with a five minute visit, tea and scones and truth bombs. It would be over the phone. She would have to endure the awful pause after the words were out.

He doesn’t need to know. What’s the point in knowing if you don’t even want the kid, if you can’t be there for them? It will only make him feel guilty when he doesn’t need to. Rory thinks of the way that guilt still shows on her own father’s face. Even when Christopher is kind and chipper around her--and he pretty much always is--she can sense it in the air, how he worries that she’ll never forgive him.

And he’s right. She won’t. She should, but she won’t. Not all the way.

She doesn’t want to do that to Logan. She’s put him through enough. Stopped him from stepping up and committing to his destiny for long enough.

Rory looks at her mother, who doesn’t always know how to fix everything, but at least knows how to try for her daughter. Lorelai’s not trying now. She’s frozen.

Rory looks away.

“I’m sorry,” she says to her hands.

Lorelai snaps back to life. “Why?”

“This was the worst nightmare, wasn’t it? The scenario you and Grandma and Grandpa would have done anything to avoid. I’m not married, and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life, and I’m knocked up. I could at least be an Entertainment Tonight reporter like Katherine Heigl, make something of myself, banter with Ryan Seacrest for a living, but no—”

“Was it Entertainment Tonight or was it E News?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not the moment for Judd Apatow minutiae banter. Got it.” Lorelai knocks her shoulder encouragingly against Rory’s. “You have an idea of what you’re doing with your life. You’re writing your book.”

“But that’s not a grown-up idea. A 401K doesn’t come attached to that idea.”

“Honey, I think a 401K isn’t exactly the same pressing concern when you’re an heiress.”

“Oh yeah,” says Rory. “I always forget about the heiress thing.”

Her mom decided to forsake privilege and raise a kid in a shed, but not Rory. Rory’s an heiress.

She likes to let the money sit in the bank. Pretend it isn’t there. She wants to be on the same playing field as everyone else, to earn what she’s got instead of cheating. Grandpa sat her down more than once and explained the whole deal, introduced her to fancy men in suits and talked about assets and interest and diversifying. She doesn’t remember much of it now; she’d mostly just let Grandpa do that stuff because it made him happy, because he liked the idea of her being in charge of it all on her own.

‘Not that you’ll need it, of course,’ he’d told her one afternoon when they were out to lunch together. ‘You’re a career woman, after all.’ He’d been so tickled, so proud. ‘But it’s good to have something set aside for a rainy day, don’t you think?’

This probably counts as a rainy day.

 _Thank God he’s not here for this rainy day,_ she thinks, and then hates herself for thinking it. For getting to this place. For all of it.

“Just a little advice,” says Lorelai. “Don’t say that forgot-I’m-an-heiress thing around people unless you want to make them hate you.”

“Got it.”

Rory looks across the town square. When she was twenty-two and fresh out of college, the whole town had stood here in the rain for her, clapping and cheering. The good kind of rainy day. Everyone’s faces had been so generous with love. They’d given her that weird sash with her name on it.

She doesn’t know if she’d be worthy of the Rory sash today. She hasn’t felt worthy for a long time, but this--this is the worst it’s ever been.

Why is this happening now? She had been able to block it all out yesterday. To focus on the book and the impromptu wedding, these little happy gifts the universe kept slinging her way to distract her. But there’s something about the stale morning light that just makes it impossible to hide from the truth anymore.

“Rory, my love.”

“What?”

“Are you sixteen?”

“No.”

“Do you have seriously terrifying parents?”

“Not unless someone’s standing between said parent and tater tots.”

“Are you penniless, friendless, all alone in the freezing night?”

“No.”

“Honey, you’re going to be fine.” Lorelai presses her hand to Rory’s cheek. “And you’re a girl who had a Planned Parenthood poster on her wall for years; you should be aware that you’ve got options.”

Rory sighs. “I know.”

“Listen. You don’t have to make a decision right now. But this doesn’t change things for you unless you want it to, all right?”

“All right,” Rory says.

Lorelai smiles one of those soft, sure magic mom smiles, and Rory is dangerously tempted to believe that everything might actually be okay.

And then she realizes. “Oh, God.”

“What? Did you just remember a second hook-up with the wookiee? At least Wookiee Jr. will feel at home with Paul Anka, hirsuteness-wise—”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t _believe_ I brought this up. It’s your wedding day.”

Lorelai waves a hand airily. “Just our fake wedding day.”

“But it’s the day when all our family and friends will be here celebrating, and the whole town has been waiting for it for _years_ —November 5th will probably become a Stars Hollow holiday—and I want you to savor every bit of it. I don’t want you to be worrying about me the whole time.”

“Well, then I won’t.”

Rory narrows her eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I’m glad you told me, hon. I wouldn’t want you to keep this bottled up.”

“Even though I told you today?”

“Even though.”

“Promise me you’ll have fun today,” Rory orders, sticking out her pinky finger.

Lorelai stares doubtfully at said finger. “Is this a pinky promise or a pinky threat?”

“Promise!” Rory yelps.

“So, threat then,” Lorelai mutters, but she obediently links her pinky finger with Rory’s.

“And don’t tell Grandma. It will break her.”

“Are you sure? I could believe it of Grandma 1.0, but surely not the Grandma who works at a whaling museum and lives with her maid’s entire extended family. Not the Grandma who quit the DAR because, and I quote, ‘I simply couldn’t tolerate the bullshit anymore, and I told them so’?? I’m embroidering that on a throw pillow and sending it to her for Christmas, by the way.”

“I know she’s evolved,” Rory says, “but there’s no way she’s evolved this much.”

“Grandma has always loved Logan.”

“Logan’s engaged,” Rory grumbles. “I don’t think she’ll love that part.”

“Rory, there is no one who knows this better than me: engaged doesn’t always mean a sure thing. Hell, marriage doesn’t always mean a sure thing.”

“Don’t say that on your wedding day! That has to be a curse or something.”

“Nah,” Lorelai says serenely. “We’re beyond curses, Luke and me.”

Rory wonders how that would feel, being beyond curses. She’s only had that feeling a little while in her life, where everything felt golden and happy, unshakable. Then Logan proposed to her in front of an adoring crowd, so excited by his vision of their future. And Rory had loved the vision too, but not as much as she’d loved the idea of her own path. Her own adventure.

And then came Rory and Logan 2.0: The No Strings Attached Years. ( _The Skanky Cheaters Years_ , a dark or maybe just fair voice in her head supplies.)

She used to lie awake while he drifted off, and she would wonder where they would be right now if she’d said yes. They would still be there, in bed together, but everything else would be so different. Maybe they’d still be in California, with the back yard with the avocado tree. Maybe California Rory would have flourished, with all that structure in her life and all those could-be-futures snuffed out.

When the possibilities are limitless, there’s so much more to fail at. She wishes someone would have told her that back then.

And yet she doesn’t, she _can’t_ regret it. Wouldn’t it have been worse, to marry Logan and always wonder if he’d kept her from her full potential? She couldn’t have done that to him. Even now, after everything that’s happened in this past year, she doesn’t want to resent him.

Still, she hasn’t been able to eat guacamole since 2007 without a momentary bittersweet _what if?_ pang. How sad is that? Guacamole! Is nothing sacred?

“And now,” says Lorelai, murdering the awkward silence with cheer, as is her wont, “it’s time for you and Lane and Sookie and April to dress up in hideous ensembles in order to make my shining beauty even more resplendent.”

Rory tries to match the cheer. “The dresses aren’t hideous.”

“They are compared to what I’m wearing, baby.”

“Fair enough.” They stand up, stretching out sore limbs, then link arms and start ambling down the street. Even though it’s morning now, the town still seems asleep, perfectly empty and still, like an enchantment’s been cast and there’s no one else awake in the world.

It reminds her of that night, this stepping-into-a-fairytale feeling. Robert and Colin and Finn circling around; Logan as the grand finale, holding out that ridiculous hat, all Mad Hatter meets Prince Charming. For just a second she’d thought that this was _it_ , just maybe, maybe--

If only he hadn’t come. If only he’d just let it go, just accepted that it could never work out and it wasn’t his problem to make Rory feel better. Whatever stupid mistake they’d kept making for the past few years, well, it wasn’t worth a grand goodbye. If only he’d just settled for that, pulled a high school Jess or an all-the-time Christopher and done the easy thing and bailed. Doesn’t he know that that’s what guys are supposed to do? It’s kind of the classic guy move.

Somehow, Rory is always the bailer when it comes to Logan. _Thanks for the proposal; bye. Thanks for the key to the beach house and maybe your heart; bye._ It makes no sense. It’s so not her. Dean left her. Jess left her. Even Paul finally left her via the fine art of text message. Why is it that Logan’s always so ready to stay?

She knows it was the right call, breaking up for good. She can’t be a married guy’s mistress, and that’s all he - Logan Huntzberger, Grand Heir To The Huntzberger Publishing Empire - could offer her. She’d be nothing more than a backup option for when he got bored sleeping with his hot French wife, if that’s even possible. Rory has done enough obsessive, self-loathing googling of Odette Moreau to know that it shouldn’t be possible. Odette Moreau is perfect. It’s a wonder Logan even kept in touch with Rory after their first date.

(He’d called her the next day; they were still in that chatting-all-the-time phase in the months after Hamburg, acting long distance coupley even after they’d agreed that keeping things casual was the way to go this time around.

‘Good date?’ she’d asked.

‘Weird date.’

‘Come on. She’s gorgeous. How weird could it possibly be?’

‘Stilted conversation. She kept pulling out her phone. She said it was because she was expecting a call she couldn’t miss, but I could’ve sworn I saw a Buzzfeed quiz on that screen.’

‘Damn millennials and their phones.’

‘Yeah, well, I think she was about as psyched about the whole family matchmaking situation as I was.’

‘So no second date?’

‘Au contraire. We’re going to a gallery opening on Friday.’

‘Ooh, a gallery opening! So fancy.’

‘The artist’s a friend of her family; the event’s going to be crawling with Moreaus. I think she just wants to show her parents she’s following the rules. Apparently the last guy she dated was a waiter slash aspiring musician. Her folks weren’t too into that.’

‘Yikes,’ she’d said, and bit back, _Almost as bad as a bastard daughter slash aspiring journalist._ She was thinking like that in those days, trying to remind herself of reasons why it wouldn’t work to really do this, no matter how appealing it felt. ‘You have fun with that.’

‘You know how I love to appease disapproving parents.’

‘It’s what you’re known for.’

‘Hey.’

‘What?’

‘You think she’s gorgeous, huh? How do you know?’

‘I may have looked her up.’

‘You jealous, Ace?’

‘Please. You’re not my boyfriend. And as my friend with benefits on British soil, you’re free to date all the French hotties you want.’

‘Lucky me.’

‘Lucky you.’

The post-date recaps had gone on for awhile--and then gotten less detailed, and then stopped. Sometimes pictures of Logan and Odette looking beautiful and important at swanky events would pop up on Facebook, and Rory would like them to show that she wasn’t a threat or heartbroken. Meanwhile, she’d let Paris sign her up for a dating app as a social experiment, and that’s how she’d found Paul. Paris had hated Paul from the get-go. Rory had just appreciated having someone to tag in Facebook pictures too.)

The point is that here, now, she has to be better than a mistress.

She has to learn how to be single for once, instead of falling back into old patterns just because everything about Logan Huntzberger still makes her heart skip like she’s twenty and perpetually giddy.

It’s probably the feeling you’re supposed to have about the father of your baby.

If this were happening to Avocado Tree Rory, she lets herself think for the first time, it would be happy instead of apocalyptic. She would break the news to him out in their backyard in the sunshine; he’d pick her up and twirl her around, laughing and crying and perfect.

“Rory?” Lorelai asks.

Damn it. This is so not the time to be thinking like this!

Rory waves a stern finger at her mother. “No worrying about me. Remember the pinky promise.”

“I will,” Lorelai says, taken aback.

“You promise?”

“Do I promise about a pinky promise?”

“Humor me.”

“I promise.” Lorelai kisses her daughter’s temple with that easy overflow of love that every child deserves. “Just for you, kid.”

 

+

  


Once they’re home and settled into the wedding buzz spirit, it gets a little easier to feel a little less doomed. The sense of overwhelming terror is replaced by a nice exhausted numbness. Rory curls her hair, staring at herself blankly in her bedroom mirror. (April already claimed the bathroom as her getting-ready space. Luke had begged her to lose the nose ring for the day. Rory's not sure what his chances of success are there.)

She’s wearing her bridesmaid dress, which is navy blue with the kind of swishy skirt that makes you want to twirl in circles no matter how old you are. It looks a little like the dress Rory wore to her first dance.

 _Aw_ , she would usually think at a time like this, _Dean_.

Now, she remembers running across wintery Stars Hollow in nylons, her feet aching from the cold. Mom and Grandma in the kitchen shouting at each other. Her lovely, fun, warm mother replaced by this hard stranger, yelling about birth control and mistakes and Rory being so _stupid_.

Rory finishes her hair. She presses the off button on the curling iron, so hard it hurts a little, and unplugs it too. Her mom always forgets to unplug the curling iron. Rory had gotten in the habit of doing it for her by the time she was five.

Maybe this, this whole life-of-failure thing was inevitable. Maybe there was nowhere for her to go but down after being the world’s most perfect kid.

When she comes out of her room, it’s to find Sookie coming in the front door. She’s dressed in navy blue too, her hair curled and gleaming.

“Hey, fellow bridesmaid!” Sookie says, rushing forward to pull Rory into a hug. When she pulls back, she’s got a discouraging hint of concern in her eyes. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Up all night,” Rory explains. She forces a smile.

Sookie’s expression darkens dangerously. “I heard.”

Uh oh.

But before the wrath of Sookie can get too out of control, Luke comes in. He’s all tuxed up and looking mighty energetic for someone who usually goes to bed at 9 PM.

“Hey, BFOTB!” Luke greets Sookie jovially.

“Luke!” Sookie, momentarily pacified, puts her hands to her heart. “You remembered!”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. You talked about it a lot.”

“Ten years ago!”

“A _lot_ a lot. I’m just grateful you don’t still have the little cake topper guy who has--”

“Your butt?? Oh, don’t I, Luke?” Sookie pulls that very cake topper out of her purse with flourish and waves it in his face. Despite the fact that Rory is currently drowning in a sea of existential dread, it’s impossible not to laugh at that one.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Luke says dully, staring at his tiny cake topper doppelganger. “I was tempting fate.”

His misery is interrupted by Lorelai, who chooses that moment to descend the stairs. She’s magnificent in her homemade dress, glowing in cream-colored tulle with her hair in loose curls beneath Emily’s tiara, and Rory feels a surge of pride and love. At least something today is perfect.

“Ack!” says Luke, covering his eyes.

“Uh, hon?” Lorelai says. “Married already. Maybe cool it on the superstition.”

“Oh,” says Luke, uncovering his eyes. “Right.” Once he’s let himself look at Lorelai, his expression goes all googly-eyed with awe. Lorelai starts to grin back.

And that is the exact amount of interaction they’re allowed before Sookie attacks.

“I can’t believe it!” she cries, pushing Luke aside and rushing up to Lorelai. “I can’t believe _you eloped without me_. Do you know what it was like to wake up to that text message??”

“Sookie,” Lorelai says, grabbing her best friend’s shoulders, “for the millionth time today, I’m sorry, but I told you! I called and Jackson said you were asleep!”

“ _So_?”

“So, you were exhausted! You lived in the woods for two years and baked a hundred wedding cakes! I couldn’t just wake you up!”

“Oh, but ya could’ve. And you should’ve!”

“In fact, Jackson _tried_ to wake you up, and he couldn’t. He did everything short of dumping a glass of water over your head! Waking you, it couldn’t be done!”

“Well then, he should have tried harder! Bring on the glass of water! No, better--I’m talking megaphone to the ear. I’m talking fire a cannonball right next to the bed!”

“It was the middle of the night. Where was he supposed to get a canon?”

“In a town full of Revolutionary War reenactors? Gee, I don’t know, that’s a real stumper!”

“Sookie--”

“And now I’ll have to live for the rest of my life with the knowledge that Michel was there and I wasn’t. I’m never forgiving you for this! But also, you look so beautiful and I love you forever! Wow, this is a lot of conflicting emotions. Did you see I found the cake topper?”

“It really is the spitting image of his butt,” Lorelai says, shaking her head in admiration.

“ _Right_?” says Sookie. Then she bursts into tears.

While Lorelai and Sookie hug it out in a storm of laughing and crying, Luke gives Rory a ‘Guess we’re the sane ones today’ look of solidarity.

Rory tries to return it, thinking, _Don’t count on that, buddy._

  


+

 

Emily shows up at the house an hour later. Rory and Lorelai are going over last minute reception plans on the sofa, while Luke throws a light pre-ceremony lunch together in the kitchen with Sookie and April. From what Rory’s overheard, it sounds like it involves a lot of cucumbers. Weirdly, Rory hasn’t been hungry all day. Then again, she usually isn’t for cucumbers.

“Lorelai, I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it sooner,” Emily says as she breezes in, garment bag on hanger in hand. “But I had a shift at the museum, and I didn’t want to leave them hanging--” She falls silent at the sight of her daughter.

“Hi Mom,” Lorelai says, smiling as she stands from the sofa. Rory can tell she’s a little nervous. “What do you think?” She turns in a slow circle, showing off her general bridal splendor.

Emily blinks rapidly for a few seconds before getting ahold of herself. “The tiara looks lovely. Just like I thought it would.”

“Thank you for loaning it.”

“Thank you for wearing it.”

For a moment they just look at each other, seeming disoriented by the pure affection in the moment. Emily presses a hand to her mouth, and can’t quite disguise it as anything besides maternal feeling. Lorelai’s eyes are gleaming. Even Rory’s starting to feel a little verklempt, and that’s with the weight of the most inconvenient news ever wearing on her psyche.

“You’re really going with that necklace?” Emily asks abruptly, breaking the spell.

“Luke gave me this necklace,” Lorelai says, seeming glad for the bickering opportunity. “It was the necklace that marked our great romantic reconciliation of 2007. I’m absolutely wearing the necklace.”

“Well, fine,” says Emily. “It’s your wedding.”

“And yet that sounded so much like ‘It’s your funeral.’”

“As I was saying before,” Emily presses on, “I do apologize for not being here earlier to influence your jewelry decisions while there was still time, but one always needs to make a good impression on their employer in the early days. God knows most of my maids could have used that lesson.” She notices Lorelai’s expression. “What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing,” Lorelai says. “It’s just funny to hear you talking about work. That’s all.”

“I’m glad my life choices are so hilarious to you,” Emily deadpans. She turns to her granddaughter. “Hello Rory. You look wonderful.”

“Thanks Grandma.” Rory gets up to kiss Emily’s cheek. “You too.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. I haven’t even changed yet.”

“No, Mom, you do,” Lorelai says. “So wonderful that I’m just gonna have to show you off.”

“Dare I ask what you mean by that?” says Emily.

“I need someone to walk me down the aisle,” Lorelai announces grandly. “And Emily Gilmore, you’re the lucky winner.”

“Nonsense. Have Rory walk you.”

“Rory didn’t participate in making me. Besides, she’s a bridesmaid. She’s got to be up front with Sookie and Lane and April.”

“Well,” Emily says after a moment’s thought, “all right.”

“Yeah?” Lorelai beams.

“Why not? I expect your father would have gotten a good laugh out of it.”

“That’s the spirit. Hey. You know what Dad would have found extra hilarious?”

“What?” Emily asks warily.

“If we danced our way down the aisle. Nothing fancy, just a little dabbing. It’ll become a YouTube sensation. Especially now that Kirk finally figured out how to upload things on YouTube.”

“Don’t push your luck, Lorelai,” Emily says airily. “Rory, please save me from your mother’s insanity. How’s the book going so far? What else is new?”

Rory feels a stab of panic.

Emily Gilmore knows things. She _deduces_ things, like the Sherlock Holmes of illicit family drama. Not to mention that she’s definitely going to recognize all the signs of an unplanned disaster pregnancy. She’s only spent the last thirty-two years angsting about it.

“Oh no you don’t,” says Lorelai, jumping in front of Rory in a whoosh of fancy fabric. “This is _my_ day, and that means you have to pay attention to my insanity. Rory will still be around tomorrow. Mom, pay very close attention: this is how you dab.” Lorelai goes for it. Steve and Kwan really taught her well the last time she babysat.

“You are without a doubt the most demented bride I’ve ever seen,” Emily pronounces after a moment of appraisal.

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ Rory mouths to her mother meanwhile.

Lorelai stealthily blows her a kiss, then carries on doing what she does best: driving Emily Gilmore nuts. “And of course, you can never go wrong with a classic hustle--”


	2. Lane & Paris

The ceremony is perfect. Lots of smiles, and even more tears. Taylor Doose shocks everyone by being the person to sob the loudest; as soon as the “I do’s” are out, he blubbers like a baby.

“You do remember you once held a town meeting to advocate _against_ our relationship, don’t you?” Luke says impatiently, turning to the pews.

“There were charts, Taylor! Charts!” Lorelai contributes.

“I thought they were graphs,” Luke says, frowning.

“What’s the difference between a chart and a graph?” Lorelai contemplates.

“Well, a graph’s … round?”

“No, that can’t be right--”

"I don't know! You're the one that went to business school--"

“You may now kiss!” Reverend Skinner reminds them, trying to salvage the romance. He leaves off the “the bride” part, because Lorelai made it clear that she, too, wanted permission to initiate some church-sanctioned public smooching. 

“Oh, right,” says Lorelai. “For the first time as a married couple.” She winks at Rory, then meets Luke in an enthusiastic embrace. Jess makes an amused face at Rory from where he stands with Zach, Kirk, and TJ.

The whole room erupts into applause and cheering (and a surprisingly rocking harp rendition of the wedding march; Lorelai had tracked Drella down on Facebook). From where she sits in the front row with Liz and Doula, Emily claps just as hard as everyone else. Rory claps along too, thankful that Stars Hollow joy is freakishly infectious. Just for now, it isn’t even that hard to pretend that her life isn’t melting faster than a wicked witch.

 

+

 

The town square is still a wonderland, and Rory enjoys the oohs and ahhs and wide eyes of her fellow townspeople as they discover it at reception time. She’s glad, though, that she’d been able to see it for the first time in the quiet, just her and Mom and Luke. At least her mother had gotten one perfect, worry-free wedding.

Every time Lorelai glances Rory’s way, Rory feels like her guilt has grown teeth and decided to eat her alive. Even though the glances are usually of the happy _Isn’t this day great?, Aren’t these people nuts and adorable?_ variety on the surface, well, Rory knows that her mom likes to cover freakouts with excessive it’s-cool-I’m-cool smiling.

Sure, these smiles seem genuine, but how _can_ they be?

The only time that Lorelai’s smile gets a little shaky is during Rory’s toast. The toast itself isn’t that difficult -- Rory’s been idly planning it for at least the last ten years, so the words come easy. But underneath her reminiscences about Luke and Lorelai’s early bantering-in-the-diner days (complete with her young self telling Lorelai to marry Luke so they’d have an endless supply of good hamburgers), she feels shaky. It’s so strange, standing up here in front of these people she loves and pretending to be happy. It feels too much like lying to them. It’s a relief to sit down.

After a series of increasingly weepy toasts and increasingly delicious food, Lorelai stands up.

“As you all know,” she says, her voice ringing through the town square, “I lost my dad last year, and it really … hurts that he wasn’t able to be here with us today. Although I think he definitely knew this day would come. He was getting pretty impatient with us, and definitely asked me more than once when I was finally going to make an honest man of Luke Danes.” There’s a bubble of laughter from the crowd. Luke smiles up at her. “But I’m lucky to have my formidable and exquisite mother, Emily Gilmore, here with me today. My parents and I have had our ups and downs over the years, but one constant that has always amazed me is my parents’ lifelong devotion to each other. For a long time, I couldn’t imagine having a marriage like that. When I met Luke … and, approximately a million years later, started dating Luke …” Another bubble of laughter. “--well, I realized I was really thankful to have my parents’ marriage there in my head to aspire to.”

Lorelai falls silent, her eyes shining. Rory reaches over to squeeze her mother’s hand.

“My father played this next song when my parents renewed their vows; today, my mom’s agreed to help me put our own spin on the father-daughter dance. But first: to my dad, Richard Gilmore.” Lorelai lifts her champagne glass. Her hand is shaking a little. 

“To Richard Gilmore,” Rory echoes, raising her own glass. Her voice melts into the voices of everyone else, all the people they love in their little town.

The opening notes of “Wedding Bell Blues” pour through the town square. Even though Rory was ready for this, even though she’d been there as Lorelai showed Emily the hot pink index card with the speech on it, checking to make sure that not a single word would hurt, tears still spring to her eyes at the sound.

Still, it’s beautiful to watch: her mom and her grandmother walking out onto the dance floor hand-in-hand, a little uncertain but teary eyed and smiling.

Grandpa would have loved it. Really, really loved it. Rory feels so sure of that that it’s almost like he’s here next to her, and she can’t decide if in some way he is, or if her heart is just that broken.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and turns to find Sookie, her eyes bright with tears.

“Those are some incredible women in that family tree of yours, hon,” she says fondly.

“I know it,” Rory says, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin.

“At this point, all mothers and daughters are invited to join the bride and her mother on the dance floor,” Kirk announces.

“You wanna give it a whirl?” Sookie asks, holding her hand out.

“Are you sure Martha won’t be mad at me for stealing her mom?”

“Nah, Martha’s busy. See?”

Rory glances across the square. Martha is eating cake with great enthusiasm at the kid’s table, laughing at the antics of her tablemates.

It still looks fun to be a kid in Stars Hollow. There are worse places to grow up without a normal family. Even though she’d known it was strange to have no dad and no grandparents or uncles or aunts or cousins, to have a little sprout where most other kids seemed to have sprawling family trees, Rory hadn’t felt sad. Life with her mom and Sookie had been fun and warm and wonderful. Lorelai had only had Sookie and Mia in the beginning. But Rory? Well, if it takes a village, then Rory definitely has one.

This could work. This _can_ work.

She doesn’t have to tell him.

“It would be my pleasure,” she says, and takes Sookie’s hand.

 

+

 

The dancing part of the party goes on for a long time. A _long_ time. This is Stars Hollow, after all.

After an hour, the dance floor has become a sloppy, adorable mess of pretty much everyone Rory’s ever known. Kirk relinquished his DJ-ing duties earlier so he could shake his groove thing with Lulu; Hep Alien took to the stage with gusto. The songs are mostly covers of mixed tape selections from Lorelai’s youth, but occasionally they’ll punk rock up some Neil Young for Luke’s sake.

Rory takes the opportunity to slip off the dance floor while everyone else busts moves to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” She feels a little woozy. Apparently staying up all night plus surprise pregnancy plus existential meltdown isn’t exactly a recipe for pep.

She stops at the coffee bar (of course there’s a coffee bar - it’s Lorelai Gilmore’s wedding) and pours herself a giant mugful, feeling a fresh wave of appreciation that Luke insisted on providing a decaf option. Right now, a pale imitation of coffee is better than no coffee.

God. Nine months with a pale imitation of coffee.

Or is it more than nine months? When do the caffeineless months stop? She definitely should have paid closer attention to Paris’s many terrifying pregnancy rambles.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Grow to love the disappointing taste of decaf coffee.

On the plus side, a glance at the dance floor reveals that Emily is now dancing with Taylor, and looks as thrilled about it as you’d expect.

Rory thinks, for just a stupid impulse of a second, that she’ll have to text Logan about it. Logan had really been into the whole Taylor Doose mythos. Sometimes he still asks—asked—about what new tyranny his hero had in store for Stars Hollow. She had never gotten around to telling him about the whole musical debacle that broke her mom's brain.

She wonders what the Life and Death Brigade would make of this shindig. For a moment, she imagines Finn and Colin and Robert tearing up the dance floor, and Logan standing next to her, trying to hide his Taylor-induced amusement to stay in Emily’s good graces, and not quite succeeding. The way his mouth would twitch, and the sparkle in his eyes--

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Rory takes a seat next to Paris, who’s not dancing right now (this party’s loss) and also always a good distraction. She and Jess are in the middle of a passionate debate about whether Stranger Things is the best thing to happen to television or not. It’s the mellowest subject matter Rory has heard Paris raise her voice to ruinous octaves about in ages.

“It’s all just a noxious love letter to boys who think they’re special because they never made the effort to develop social skills. It makes sense that you’d like it. They’re _so_ your crowd.”

“Hey,” Jess says, “I’ve never played Dungeons & Dragons.”

“But deep down you want to,” Paris says sagely.

“No,” Jess says, a few seconds too late.

“I _knew_ it,” Paris says triumphantly. “And don’t even get me started on Winona Ryder sobbing into a ball of Christmas lights for eight hours—”

“I like the Christmas lights,” Rory contributes, so that they don’t start wondering why she’s so quiet.

“You were raised here,” Paris says. “You were interpellated into a love of Christmas lights. Your opinion is irrelevant.” She waves an accusing hand at their surroundings.

To be fair, it’s pretty Christmas light heavy.

“April could probably teach you to play Dungeons & Dragons,” Rory tells Jess, giving him an aren’t-you-enjoying-my-bff’s-attention smile.

“Did I ever say I wanted to play D&D?” Jess says, grimacing.

“So you’re familiar enough with it to call it D&D, huh?” Paris says.

“ _Everyone_ calls it D&D.”

“You are so busted. Just because you’re a nerd of the Jack White school of ‘I’m too deep to wash my hair more than once a month’ doesn’t mean you’re not a nerd.”

“I wash my hair,” Jess protests.

“What brand of shampoo do you use?”

“Seriously?”

“I need receipts, Professor Snape!”

“You’re a terrifying person,” Jess tells her.

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” Paris scowls. Then her expression does the seemingly impossible and darkens. “Oh, damn it. Doyle’s coming back. Our therapist says I need to work on picking my battles in order to create a more peaceful and supportive home environment. Stranger Things is dangerous ground. He knows the Duffer Brothers. If he hears one mention of it, he’s never shutting up, and I’m putting this fork in his eyeball.” She brandishes said fork.

“Nice dance moves out there, McMaster-Geller clan!” Rory says when Doyle and the kids get to the table, trying to stave off the inevitable doom that’s coming. 

“Did I hear somebody mention Stranger Things?” Doyle asks merrily.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Paris mutters under her breath, and then beams brightly as Gabriella and Timeteo scamper over to her.

“... because I’ve read some interesting think pieces about its shortcomings on the internet,” Doyle adds diplomatically after a glance at Paris. “Not that we need to get into that right now.”

Paris gives him an appreciative little smile.

“Seems like therapy’s paying off,” Rory murmurs to Paris.

“Yeah, well,” Paris mutters back, “we’ll see. If anybody mentions Deadpool, they’re gonna die by my hand.”

Still, she looks pretty damn happy. Thank God for that. Someone needs to be.

The music stops, and Rory looks over to see Emily darting away from Taylor and toward Gypsy (who has, for some reason, always been Emily’s very favorite Stars Hollowian). It’s just in time, too: Kirk returns to DJ-ing and immediately announces that he’s going to be playing his remixes of tunes from Stars Hollow The Musical. There’s no way that Taylor is going to stay even remotely chill about that. The townspeople all cheer at the musical mention. Well, except for Lorelai and Luke, who make baffled faces at the rest of the crowd.

“This might be a stupid question to ask at a Lorelai Gilmore wedding,” Lane says, sliding into the empty seat on Rory’s other side, “but why are you drinking coffee instead of champagne? And also, can I steal some? All this rocking is hard work when you’ve been up all night at a secret pre-wedding wedding. God. Are we old?”

“Might be. Here you go.” Rory passes Lane the mug.

“It tastes weird,” Lane says.

“It’s decaf,” Rory reports miserably.

Lane balks. “Good God, why?”

Rory doesn’t say anything. Thanks to a lifetime of best friends-ing, Lane gets there pretty quick anyway.

“Oh my God,” Lane says, dropping her voice to a whisper. Not that she really needs to; everybody is distracted losing their minds over the dubstep remix of ‘We’re Working On Building Stars Hollow.’ “Are you ...?”

Well. No point in hiding it. Everyone’s gonna notice sooner or later. (Except maybe Kirk.)

“Yep,” Rory mutters.

Lane’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“Way.”

“Logan?”

“Yep.”

“He broke up with her?”

“Nope.”

“Oh my God.” Lane wraps Rory in a big hug. “ _Rory._ ”

“I know,” Rory says. The words come out more like a whimper.

Lane just holds her, with the kind of healing hug powers that must come alongside motherhood. Rory wants to just stay here for the rest of her life. That’s practical, right?

“I don’t know why we’re hugging but I demand to be involved,” Paris announces.

“Get in here, girl,” Rory says, beckoning her over.

 

+

 

“How’s it going between you two?” she asks Paris later, yelling over the music (which is thankfully no longer Daft Punk Meets Stars Hollow History). They’re dancing together to a peppy Hep Alien rendition of “You Make My Dreams Come True”, coming off a slow dance where Paris swayed around with Doyle and Rory danced with Jess.

Rory’s grateful for Paris cutting in. Jess has been great tonight--affable and quick to smile, chattier than usual, excited to talk about her book. But she doesn’t know how to be the Rory that he knows right now. Bright and smart. Wise beyond her years. Dauntless. She can’t remember the last time she finished reading a book. Her bookworm concentration has been shot since she got that call about Grandpa.

Jess would have thought it was so stupid, romping through the nighttime streets of Stars Hollow in steampunk garb. She can’t even imagine his reaction to her being friends with a guy who’d buy a tango club and an ugly B&B on a whim.

 _We used to make fun of people like this,_ he’d reminded her once, so incredulous.

Paris looks over to her maybe-formerly-almost-ex-husband. He’s showing off all his worst dance moves on the other side of the floor. Gabby and Tim are shrieking with laughter. It makes Rory’s heart hurt.

“Oh, the usual,” says Paris. “He’s going to drive me to homicide.”

“It looked like a pretty cuddly atmosphere for homicide.”

Paris lowers her voice to a medium shout. “Between you and me, I’m so glad he’s back. It’s like the house is home again, you know?”

“That’s good,” Rory says. “I’m so happy for you.” And even though it’s true, and she _is_ \-- really, truly happy -- well, the panic hits her in a wave anyway. Houses being home. Babies needing daddies.

To pull attention away from the fear that must be on her face, she twirls Paris under her arm.

Paris doesn’t fall for it. “Are you going to tell me what’s up with you tonight?”

“I would,” says Rory, “but trust me, you’re going to go into Paris Hyperdrive when you find out.  And I just want you to have fun with your family and my town full of weirdos tonight. Take a night off from stress.”

“You know that’s going to drive me more nuts than anything you could tell me, right?” Paris says.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Rory says.

“Give me a hint,” Paris urges.

“Nope.”

“Let me guess a letter.”

“What do you mean, a letter?”

“It’s been awhile since I trounced you at verbal hangman. Come on, Gilmore, let’s go.”

“Y’know, I’m still not totally convinced verbal hangman exists--”

“R!”

“Paris,” Rory says, laughing in spite of herself, “let’s just dance, okay? I promise, I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

It’s a testament to therapy, and maybe sixteen years of friendship, that Paris actually listens. “Fine. But if you think you’re dying, I’ve got news for you: it ain’t gonna happen. I’ve got access to scientific advances that would blow your damn mind.”

“I’m not dying,” Rory says, “but thanks for the reminder that you’re terrifying.”

 

+

 

Finally, finally, five hours or a million years later, the reception winds down. Less dancing, more people heading home or falling asleep at their tables as they fondly chat to each other, draped in the blankets that Kirk had wisely provided to stave off the fall night's chill.

“Hey,” says Rory; she and her mom are both wrapped in blankets as they walk together toward Luke’s truck, which Lorelai has been referring to as the getaway car under her breath for the past hour, “You got Gypsy to turn it into a flying truck so you can soar into the sky and then turn around and wave goodbye to us like at the end of Grease, right?”

“Duh,” says Lorelai.

“Oh, good,” says Rory. “I was worried.”

“Obviously the only way for a new bride to travel is to _fly_ with her _guy_ to the Dragon _fly_.”

Lorelai and Luke are spending the night in the honeymoon suite cottage at the Dragonfly Inn. They’re putting off the actual New Zealand honeymoon for a couple of weeks so that they have time to get things organized in their respective workplaces. (The ticket prices were astronomical, but Emily insisted.) That means a Stars Hollow wedding night. Sookie and Michel had sneaked away from the wedding reception early to pretty up the suite. Rory has no doubt that it’ll look exquisite. She also has no doubt that Sookie and Michel have definitely fallen into at least three screaming matches by now.

“You’re rhyming,” Rory points out to her mother. “And you said ‘fly’ twice, so, not very good rhyming.”

“I know!” Lorelai says woefully. “I’m exhausted. I’m aware that I’ve vowed to never speak these words aloud, but I think I might be too old for this.”

“Oh, come on,” says Rory. “Two weddings in a row? Who wouldn’t be wiped?”

“I almost asked my mother to make that New Zealand trip into a cruise. The midlife crisis cruising impulse strikes again!”

“But you _didn’t_ ask her to,” says Rory. “And that’s the important thing.”

“I’m old!”

“You’re not old!”

“Luke, I’m old!” Lorelai cries tragically over her shoulder.

Luke, walking behind them with April, already has his own problems to deal with.

“I just can’t believe you’ve never read Foucault,” April is declaring fervently.

“Really?” Luke says. “You can’t believe _I’ve_ never read Foucault.”

“I mean,” April reevaluates, wrinkling her nose, “I can _believe_ it. I just don’t want to believe it. Dad, it will blow your mind.”

“Rory probably knows what the hell you’re talking about. Rory, is Foucault really worth my time?”

“Absolutely,” Rory says, turning around to face them. “Foucault and Judy Blume maketh the well-rounded man. Or woman.”

“Or non-binary person,” April adds.

“Right,” Rory says.

“Rory’s old enough that her understanding of gender identity is helplessly limited,” April explains.

“Then there’s really no hope for the rest of us, huh?” says Luke, shooting a wry smile Rory’s way.

“Nope,” says April crisply. Then she melts from woke college student back into an adoring daughter, throwing her arms around Luke. “But I’m so happy for you, Dad.”

Rory feels eyes on her. Sure enough, Lorelai is watching. It’s easy to tell what she’s thinking.

_You would do that to Logan? You would keep his kid out of his life?_

But her mom doesn’t understand. Her mom never saw how Logan would look when he talked about Odette, or his father’s company. How smooth and professional he was, but without any of that joyful spark that Rory has always loved too much.

Messy joy doesn’t have a place in Logan’s life now. That’s not part of the dynastic plan. How could his engagement with Odette go on if Rory told him the news? “This is my college girlfriend, Rory; I’ve been cheating on you with her for the past few years - in fact, I was hooking up with her even before you and I got together - and now we’ve got a love child on the way.”

 _That_ wouldn’t bring any sordid shame to the Huntzberger family.

But what’s the alternative? Making him keep a kid a secret from his wife for the rest of his fancy workaholic days?

No way. She’s not doing that to him.

She lets herself imagine, just for a second, Logan choosing her. Over Odette. Over work. Over London. (When you’re tired of London, you’re tired of life.)

When she thinks of how he kissed her goodbye, it feels easy to believe in. She can’t remember ever being touched like that by anyone else. Like it took all the strength he could possibly summon to smile, and yet he did anyway. Because they were each other’s, if only for a few seconds longer. Each other’s happy stupid youth. Each other’s giddiest, most breathless adventure. And how could he not smile about that?

Rory pulls the blanket closer around her. It's suddenly freezing.

April hugs Lorelai, and Rory hugs Luke and then her mom, and then Luke and Lorelai drive off in the sunset. Well, dark. Stars Hollow knows how to throw a long party. The remaining crowd cheers drowsily as the truck disappears down the street. It’s covered in rattling cans and streamers. Instead of _Just Married_ , the sign above the cans says _FINALLY!!!!!!_.

Rory can’t imagine waiting for as long as her mother did.

(But twelve years--that’s not exactly nothing, is it?)

“Marriage is an archaic institution,” says April, kind of weepily. 

“It’s true,” says Rory, putting an arm around her stepsister’s shoulders.

“But this is so beautiful,” April wails.

“Pretty darn beautiful,” Rory agrees, wistful.


	3. Emily

Lorelai Facetimes Rory about thirty minutes after arriving at The Dragonfly, because of course she does.

Rory’s just settled onto the couch in her pajamas with a bowl of freshly made microwave popcorn, basking in the very specific relief that comes from changing into comfortable clothing after hours of looking carefully pretty. Emily is washing up in the bathroom, and probably changing into pajamas that cost more than Rory’s made in the last year.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Rory says, “but I don’t really want to see inside your honeymoon love shack.”

“Oh yeah?” says Lorelai.

“You know when people say we’re freakishly close? I think this kind of thing might just be why.” She tosses a few pieces of popcorn at her phone screen.

“I get where you’re coming from, but also, you have to see this.”

“Do I? Stop and ask yourself—”

“ _Cakes_.”

It’s true: inside the little rectangle, Rory can see that the cottage is packed with brightly colored cakes, like a beautiful diabetes-inducing fairytale.

“Sookie couldn’t bring herself to throw them all away, and really, could you blame her? The woman’s a genius. A Da Vinci. Dare I say a culinary Beyonce?”

“She knows Luke’s stance on excessive sugar eating, right?”

“Ehh. It’s a special occasion. I’m gonna see if I can get him to eat the whole cake that says ‘LUKE’ on it.”

“I am not eating the Luke Cake,” comes Luke’s voice from the background.

“What if I feed it to you _naked_?”

“If you’re naked, do you really think I’m gonna be focusing on cake?”

“Hanging up before I get traumatized!” Rory chirps. “Bye lovebirds.”

“Hey Rory?” Lorelai says, her tone softening. “I love you, kid. Hang in there. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I know. I love you too. And don’t worry. I’ll have a nice night in with Grandma.”

Lorelai erupts into a sudden suspicious coughing fit.

Rory rolls her eyes, smiling. “Have fun, Mom.”

“Oh, I _will_.”

“And then don’t ever tell me about it!”

“Prude,” Lorelai scoffs lovingly.

Rory makes a face, then hangs up and sits in the quiet. She’s tired, but the kind of tired where making the effort to go to bed is too exhausting. She could read. Reading, that’s a thing she’s supposed to do, right? Especially now that she’s a writer. Writers read. That’s kind of the number one rule. Plus, there’s an ever-growing pile of books in her room that she keeps buying and meaning to get to. At this point, it’s become a safety hazard.

She hasn’t felt like sitting down and reading a book in a long time. Maybe that’s why her life’s gone off the rails. Rory Gilmore minus books equals does not compute.

It’s just, it’s hard to lose yourself in a book when you want to lose yourself this badly. It’s like the magic in the words doesn’t work anymore. She doesn’t even want to think about how it would go if she tried right now. _Hag-Seed_ deserves better than Rory’s mind screaming _BABY, BABY, BABY_ so insistently that she can’t register a single paragraph. Rory can’t disrespect Margaret Atwood like that.

Emily comes into the living room, saving Rory from her own thoughts. She’s dressed in silky purple pajamas that, sure enough, must have cost the big bucks. Rory wonders idly if Richard ever saw those pajamas. Those little befores and afters keep sneaking into her mind at the weirdest times, and about the smallest things, too. Things she never would have paid attention to before. _Was this real to him? Did it happen in time for him to see it?_

“It was a wonderful wedding, wasn’t it?” Emily says.

“It was perfect,” Rory agrees.

“I wish your grandfather could have been there.”

In spite of herself, she pictures it. Grandpa walking Lorelai down the aisle. (It had been perfect in its own way, Emily and Lorelai walking arm in arm down the aisle toward Luke, both of them pretending their eyes weren’t suspiciously gleaming.) Her grandparents dancing together under the fairy lights, looking so elegant and at home, so just right in each other’s arms.

“Me too,” Rory says.

Emily sighs, a slight sad smile on her face.

And of course Logan will die someday, hopefully about a billion years from now, and Rory will hear about it through the news or Facebook or whatever terrifying future equivalent of Facebook exists by that point. That is, if Rory hasn’t kicked the bucket already after a long, weary life of stressful single motherhood and failed attempts at being an author--

God, her brain is the _worst_ today.

She can’t do this anymore. She has to talk to someone about it. Those few minutes with Lane at the reception just made it worse. She knows that if she called, Lane would come right over, prepared for a supportive BFF all-nighter, but Rory doesn’t want to pull her away from Zach and the boys.

She takes a deep breath. “Grandma, I have to tell you something. And you’re not going to like it. And I’m just going to ask you to stay calm once I’ve told you. And whatever you do, you can’t call Mom about it, all right? She and Luke deserve a nice wedding night.”

Emily looks warily at her. “All right.”

“You mean it?” Rory tests.

After a moment, Emily takes her phone out of her purse (somehow, Emily Gilmore’s purse is always conveniently nearby) and hands it to Rory. “There.”

Rory takes the phone and tucks it under the couch cushion.

Then she takes a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Emily stares at her. Her expression frosts over, turns brittle, and Rory wonders if she’s flashing back to sixteen year old Lorelai.

This, Rory knows now, was a terrible idea.

“Who’s the father?” Emily finally asks.

“Logan.”

For a moment, Emily’s face lights up like she just became the owner of all the world’s Birkin bags, or tricked Lorelai into going on a Viking River Cruise with her. (That cruise fixation is definitely going to bite Lorelai in the butt sooner or later.) Then a shadow passes over. “Logan is engaged to Odette Moreau.”

“Yes, he is,” Rory says.

“Oh,” says Emily.

They sit in what might be the most excruciating silence Rory has ever known. And that’s saying something after all of the Friday Night Dinners and social situations with Paris she’s endured in life.

“They’re supposed to marry next spring, aren’t they?” Emily asks airily, like this is just a gossip session with the D.A.R. ladies.

“That’s the plan,” Rory says, trying to imitate her.

“Well, then,” says Emily.

Rory wonders if, miraculously or maybe terribly, that’s it.

But then: “You’ve still got time.”

“Time?” Rory says blankly.

“To get him back.”

“Grandma ...”

“I had this fight with your mother a million times. But Rory, you aren’t sixteen years old, and this isn’t about doing things properly. If you were still involved with the boy, then clearly it’s because you still have feelings for him, and of course he must still have feelings for you. Don’t let him get stuck in some loveless marriage to that French girl just because you’ve grown up with the misguided notion that the only right way to raise a child is alone.”

“I don’t think that’s the only right way to raise a child!” Rory protests. She can’t remember the last time she raised her voice to her grandmother—definitely not since Grandpa died—but now, she can’t help it. “ _I_ was the child. Not having a dad sucks. Believe me, I know.”

Emily is chastened by that. “I’m sorry. Of course you do.” Diplomatically, she asks, “How did you find your way into each other’s lives again?”

Rory hasn’t told this story to anyone. Not Paris, whose Logan tolerance has never been high. (It’s higher as Lorelai’s, but still.) Not Lane; she only got the Cliff’s Notes version. Telling the whole story, Rory had reasoned, would mean that the story mattered. She’d really, really been trying to tell herself that it didn’t matter. Until now. “You remember when I was researching that piece in Hamburg?”

Emily gasps. “But that was years ago.”

“Well,” Rory says, “we ran into each other while I was there, and we kind of … rekindled things. It just kind of felt like fate, you know? Stumbling back into each other’s lives like that. So we spent some time traveling around Europe together.”

“It’s very romantic,” Emily says a little sing-songily. “Traveling together around Europe.”

That’s an understatement. Rory tries not to blush at the memories.

“After the traveling came to an end,” she says in the most neutral voice she can manage, “we tried to stay together for awhile, but I needed to be back in the States, and he had to be in London for work, and we just realized it wasn’t really going to work as a real relationship with the two of us on different continents. So we had a deal: we would be together when we were in the same place, and when we weren’t, we’d do our own thing.”

“Your mother never told me about any of this.”

“I never told her. She’s always been weird about Logan, and I didn’t want to break it to her until I was sure. And then, well, it never really was … sure.”

Rory wonders just how stupid she’s being right now. Before, Logan was one of those topics guaranteed to make ice form in the air between her mom and her grandmother.

But she wanted this, she realizes. She wanted someone who would listen and _hope_ , who saw the good in Logan, in her with Logan, instead of just viewing their relationship as a mistake, or as Rory running away from the quiet small town good girl she’s supposed to be. She wanted to tell someone else who could imagine a future for them, too.

“So you pre-date her,” Emily says.

Rory is so lost in thought that she doesn’t quite get it. “Mom?”

“Odette,” Emily says with vicious triumph. “He was with you first.”

“Not exclusively,” Rory protests. “We agreed that we would be fine with dating other people. We were being realistic.”

“Dating is one thing. Getting engaged to someone is quite another.”

“Yeah, well,” Rory says with a sigh, “the Huntzbergers weren’t too keen on having an unmarried son in his thirties. Lots of lectures from Mitchum about carrying on the family legacy. Lots of guilt tripping from Sheera about her not having enough grandchildren.”

As soon as the words come out of her mouth, it occurs to her that Sheera doesn’t have _that_ problem anymore. Nope, now it’ll pivot to the horror of having a Huntzberger grandchild sullied by inferior Gilmore blood.

She can’t tell him. She _can’t_. If she’s having this baby, well, no way in hell is it going to feel as small and unwanted as Sheera and Mitchum Huntzberger made Rory feel. As small and unwanted as her father’s parents made her feel.

“And anyway,” Rory goes on as lightly as she can, “they were both nuts about Odette. Obviously. French heiress -- what’s not to be nuts about?”

“And Logan never asked you to marry him again?” Emily says it so simply, like it’s such an obvious idea.

Rory shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. “He knew that wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Wasn’t it?” Emily says wryly.

“I turned him down the first time.”

“You were much younger. It wasn’t time for you to settle down yet. The problem wasn’t Logan himself.”

“Well, there’s some stuff that won’t ever change. You know how his parents were about me. I’m not part of that world.”

“I think you always conducted yourself very well in it.”

“That doesn’t mean I belong there.”

“I suppose,” Emily says with an unconvinced sniff. “Well, I for one am glad to hear about all this. You may have hidden your love affair from your mother, but I could always tell you were smitten this past year, and I knew it certainly couldn’t be with that _person_ you were seeing.”

“Paul.” Reminding Emily that he has a name seems like the least Rory can do at this point. The actual least. “We weren’t exclusive either, strictly speaking. I told him I was fine with him dating other people, since I was gone so much. But he kinda just … didn’t. I guess he really liked me.”

“I hope he’s not still hung up on you,” Emily says with a look of vague horror.

“Nope. He sent me a breakup text this morning, in fact. He finally couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Well, good,” says Emily. “You don’t need any other loose threads dangling. Odette is obstacle enough.”

“We are not getting rid of Odette,” Rory says firmly.

Emily frowns at her, one of those classic Gilmore grandparent _W_ e _raised you to be more Slytherin than this_ expressions.

“Logan and I decided that we’re through, and we should have done that a long time ago. Obviously. Because then there wouldn’t be …” She gestures vaguely at her stomach, then gives up on talking. She pulls a blanket onto her lap, idly wishing that it could swallow her up. When it doesn’t, she reaches for a giant handful of popcorn.

Emily, being Emily, isn’t about to let it go. “You and Logan have always made such a wonderful couple.”

“I was always really happy with him,” Rory says without quite meaning to. It sounds so stupid. She knows that can’t be true, that things weren’t always all sunshine for the two of them. This past year alone has been the worst. And yet, with him she always feels--

It doesn’t matter.

“But it wasn’t a … a forever thing, you know?” she forces herself to go on. “He was just my first serious grownup relationship, and I guess I haven’t found anyone else I’ve felt like that about yet. But I will. Someday. Probably.”

Emily gives her a look that definitely doesn’t mean ‘I support you in this and you’re totally right.’

“Popcorn?” Rory says desperately, holding the bowl out.

Emily takes some.

“You know,” Emily says after a minute of quiet crunching, “Richard was engaged when I met him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rory says. “Pennilyn Lott.”

“He was going to marry her because his parents approved, and because he liked her well enough. Marriage is hard, Rory, and those aren’t the kind of reasons that will make it worth it in the long run.”

“Logan is in charge of his own life. I can’t just burst in and tell him he’s not getting married anymore.”

“And you really think he doesn’t have any interest in getting back together with you instead?”

Rory thinks back to that night in the club. The way Logan looked at her while he talked about doing his duty. _Give me a reason,_ she almost saw in his face—but it was dark and they’d been drinking and there was no point in wishful thinking. _Give me a reason, and I’ll choose you._

“I don’t know,” Rory says hopelessly.

“Have you told him yet that you’re pregnant?”

“No. I don’t know if I’m going to.”

“Oh, _Rory_ ,” Emily says in dismay.

Rory laughs wearily. “That’s what Mom said. Same tone and everything.”

“Good. Then she’s got her head on her shoulders about this. Rory, you _have to_ tell him.”

“But he’s got his life all figured out. There’s no place in it for his college girlfriend and an accidental love child. I can’t do that to him.”

“And instead you’ll leave him to find out about it someday by accident like poor Luke? He missed all of April’s childhood.”

“But he was there for baby’s first nose ring!”

“If you’re going to keep this baby, you owe it to Logan to tell him about it. And soon, so that he has time to decide what he really wants.”

“Grandma...”

“Forget reality and all the complications. If you could have anything,” Emily says, clasping Rory’s hands in hers, “what would you want?”

Logan, next to her. Looking at ridiculously expensive cribs; laughing in her ear at lamaze classes; holding her hand in a hospital room, telling her that she can do this, that there’s nothing she can’t do. _You jump, I jump, Jack._

Rory doesn’t say anything. Emily seems to figure it out anyway.

To her credit, she doesn’t push it. Instead, Emily leans back into the couch. “Your grandfather and I used to talk about what beautiful babies you two would have,” she muses.

“I know,” Rory says. “It really freaked us out.”

Emily laughs. She places her hand over Rory’s. 

“You’re a good girl, Rory,” she says. 

“I’m really not,” Rory replies. Her laugh sounds inconveniently like a sob. “I keep thinking ... Grandpa would be so disappointed. I haven’t done any of the things he believed I would. No steady job. No lasting journalistic acclaim. He never saw me become _anything_. And if he knew about this...”

“Rory.” Emily tips up Rory’s chin, staring right into her eyes. “You were your grandfather’s pride and joy. You changed him in a way that I will always be thankful to you for. I don’t think that man’s heart was ever truly open until you came into his life. Life is hard, my dear. He’d be proud of you for fighting through it with that Gilmore spirit.”

Rory swallows the lump in her throat. “Thank you, Grandma.”

“Now,” Emily says formidably. “Call. Logan.”

 

+

 

When Rory calls, Logan picks up the phone. She hadn’t really expected that. Their goodbye had felt so much like goodbye forever. A real ‘I’m cutting you out of my heart now’ situation. Not the kind of thing you could just undo with a quick phone call.

“Rory?”

Her heart leaps at the sound of his voice. Part of it is a bad leap: an I’m-really-doing-this leap, a this-is-so-stupid leap. But it’s also the leap that’s been there ever since they were at Yale, ever since _In omnia peratus_ and falling through the air with his hand in hers. It’s _Logan_. Her Logan.

The artist formerly known as her Logan.

It doesn’t matter. The point right now is to be brave.

“I have to tell you something,” Rory says.


	4. Logan

The doorbell rings the next night. Rory and Lorelai and Emily are in the middle of a Downton Abbey rewatch binge. Luke is making dinner in the kitchen with April; their chatter provides faint background noise to the very British tones on the TV.

“I’ll get it,” Rory says. She tries to keep her voice steady. The truth is, she’s never paid less attention to Lady Mary in her whole life.

“We’ll make ourselves scarce,” Emily says, practically twitching with joy.

“No, it’s okay. We can talk outside. Don’t worry.”

“Good luck, hon.” Lorelai squeezes Rory’s shoulder.

Rory takes a deep breath. She smooths her hair. She doesn’t know what good smoothing her hair will do; it’s not like looking real pretty will salvage this situation. That’s why she decided, after a brief foray into the cute side of her closet, to wear yoga pants and an old Yale t-shirt and one of her favorite baggy cardigans. There’s no pretty princess-ing her way out of this one. It’s going to be rough. There’s no way it won’t be rough. He had only said ‘I’ll be there.’ She’s been trying to decipher what it meant ever since.

She takes a deep breath, her heart pounding, and then opens the door.

Logan is standing there, a suitcase next to him, wearing a black peacoat and a scarf and looking annoyingly handsome as always.

Except for one little difference.

He has a black eye.

“What happened to you?” Rory demands; she shuts the front door behind her, then goes closer to inspect it. “Odette didn’t ... punch you, did she?”

That’s the kind of thing that happens in movies. There’s no way he got punched by his fancy French fiancée—

“Oh, she punched me,” Logan confirms wryly. “Then she cried out ‘Thank God,’ burst into happy tears, and called her mom.”

“Wow,” Rory says, her head spinning. He’s here. He’s so cute. Even with the black eye: cute. How did she forget how cute he was? She’s stared at him more than most of the other people in her life. It’s not the sort of thing you should forget, this level of cute. And yet there’s no preparing herself for it. It reminds her of Hamburg, being confronted by the sudden dizzying fact of his handsomeness. That moment of uncertainty before everything changed. _That can’t be … is that …?_

Here he is, again.

“I think she forgot I was in the room,” Logan says. “Which I appreciated, because I wasn’t entirely dry-eyed myself.”

“You _cried_?”

“Never underestimate the pain of being punched in the face by someone wearing a giant engagement ring that she then proceeds to throw at your face. But there might have been some happy tears in there too.”

Rory wants to very carefully kiss that poor black eye. She settles for crossing her arms in front of her chest and taking a few steps closer. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here. You called.”

“It hasn’t felt like ‘of course’ in a really long time.”

“I know,” he says, grimacing, “and I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault. Not completely, at least. It’s not like I was exactly being serious about us either. The whole stupid Vegas thing.”

“Did you want more than the Vegas thing?”

“You couldn’t tell? I felt so obvious.”

“I hoped, maybe, but I wasn’t going to presume. You didn’t want us to be a permanent thing before, and I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up and try to drag you into something you didn’t want. I guess I was just happy to see you however I could.”

“I did,” Rory says. She takes another step in in spite of herself. He’s almost close enough to kiss. “I did want. But it’s just ... I didn’t have anything figured out. I had one piece in The New Yorker and a kooky British lady to chase around and boxes of clothes on multiple continents. _You_ had a fiancée and a career and a vision for your future.”

“All courtesy of my dad. It’s not like I’m exactly killing it at striking out on my own.”

“Yeah, but growing up and deciding to do the responsible thing—you _did_ that. You were there, you were _cookies_ , and--”

“Cookies? Should I just take that as a compliment?”

“It’s a reference. Recent Buffy rewatch,” Rory explains impatiently.

“Ah, right.” Logan smiles, amused. “Turning to the vampire slayer in times of stress. A classic Ace tradition.”

“The point is, what would you want with a failed journalist slash homeless person?”

“Up-and-coming author,” Logan counters smoothly.

Rory crosses her arms tighter. She feels suddenly awkward, almost shy. “Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“Make me sound so amazing.”

“Because you _are_ amazing,” Logan says firmly. “And also way too hard on yourself.”

They stand facing each other in silence for a moment.

“So you’re single,” Rory blurts out.

“I’m single,” Logan says. “And relocating.”

“What?” Rory can’t picture him outside of that crisp, gray London apartment.

Logan inhales. “I called my dad and told him about everything. And that I’m not staying in London anymore.”

This can’t be real. “Logan, you don’t have to—”

“If you decide to go through with this, I’m gonna be here, Ace. You might not want to get back together, and if you don’t, I understand, that’s fine. But I’m going to be here for you. I’ll be involved, I’ll buy all the books. I already bought What To Expect When You’re Expecting. And, weirdly, the one about Tiger Moms. I wasn’t really thinking straight; the news kind of shook me up.”

Rory laughs. “I don’t believe you.”

Logan fiddles with his phone for a minute and then shows her the screen. Sure enough, it’s right there on the Kindle app. She thinks her heart is going to explode. Because life, grownup life, it doesn’t give you this much happiness all at once. What's going on? Is this yoga pants/t-shirt/baggy sweater combo her new lucky outfit? God, she should have picked a cuter lucky outfit.

“There it is,” she marvels.

Logan chuckles. “I told you.”

“You’re forty-six percent in already?”

“Long plane ride.”

“Slow down, Huntzberger. You’re leaving me in the dust at the good parenting thing.”

“Impossible.”

“And—and what was that about not wanting to get back together?” She swallows.

“I mean it,” Logan says earnestly. He sticks his hands into his coat pockets. “I’m not going to push. Yes, there are still feelings there for me, but this isn’t about that.”

“I have feelings,” Rory says. God, she’s winning all the awards for eloquence tonight.

“In general?” Logan says. He’s teasing her.

“The Logan-specific kind.”

“Oh, good,” he says. “That’s my favorite kind.”

It’s the exact moment where he would pull her into his arms, if they were more sure.

Instead they keep standing just inches apart, staring into each other’s faces like they’ve been starving for each other.

“I just felt like …” Rory tries to find the words. “... Like we were being pulled in two different directions, and the only thing we had left in common was the fact that we loved each other once.”

Logan’s brow furrows. “Once?”

“But now ... a baby ... I don’t know, doesn’t it feel like a sign from the universe or something?”

“You hate when people say things are signs from the universe,” Logan says, that old fondness in his voice that always makes her feel butterflies. “You showed me that Amy Schumer sketch more than once.”

“Shut up. I’m still a girl. Can you not allow me the occasional dumb girl thing?”

“I’m teasing. I get it.” He goes more serious. His hands come out of his pockets. He wants to put them on her waist, she knows. She knows him. “It does feel like a sign.”

“And you would really want to ... be a dad?” She still can’t quite let herself believe it.

“I would,” he says, without pausing.

That settles it: this is definitely the new lucky outfit.

“But what about you?" he continues. "Would you want to be a mom?”

Rory thinks about it. And for the first time, the answer comes easily. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Logan smiles, bright and happy.

“I’ve been really trying this past year to tell myself that it’s good to be rootless, and I should take advantage of that, of not being tied to anything. But ... I want roots. I _like_ roots. And it just feels like this came along when it was supposed to, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan says wonderingly. Rory smiles at him, and he grins back. “One thing, though.”

“What?”

“You’re scared of babies.”

“I’m not scared of babies!”

Logan gives her an _I-know-you_ look.

“Oh, I’m totally scared of babies,” Rory admits. “But have you met Steve and Kwan? Or Gabby and Tim? I don’t know why I’m asking you that; of course you haven’t, it’s been years since you were my official boyfriend. But those are some cool kids. Of course they are, their moms are brilliant, they had no choice, but still: that’s pretty inspiring, right?”

“Hey, I’ve totally met Steve and Kwan,” Logan protests.

“You have?”

“When I visited here back before you graduated Yale. We stopped at Lane’s. They were very cool babies.”

“Oh, right,” Rory says. She still remembers feeling so happy, walking the Stars Hollow streets hand in hand. It had seemed so much like the first time of many, instead of the only. “Well, you should see how well they’ve grown up. They’re amazing. Kwan is totally into rock ‘n roll just like his mom and dad, but Steve is really into chess. He’s, like, scary good at it. He’s in competitions and everything.”

“Chess?”

“Lane’s mom is thrilled.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be? Chess!”

“Right? Though she is also, surprisingly, _very_ into the rock ‘n roll. Sometimes she accompanies Kwan on the tambourine, and let me tell you, that’s a sight to see--”

They’re interrupted by a phone ringing. Logan fishes it from his pocket.

“It’s Honor,” he says with a sigh.“My mom must have called her and filled her in on the latest Huntzberger family apocalypse.”

“Answer it,” Rory says.

“You sure?”

“The suspense must be killing her. Have mercy.”

Logan answers. “Hey, Honor.”

Her voice pours through the speaker. “Is it true? You left Odette and you quit the company and _you and Rory are having a baby_??”

“It’s true,” Logan confirms with a laugh.

“Hi, Honor!” Rory adds.

Honor screams in delight. A really, really loud, long scream.

“Rory, honey? You all right? It sounds like someone’s bein’ murdered out here—” Babette stops dead in her tracks on the neighboring porch. Her eyes about triple in size at the sight of Logan. “Why, hello there, mister. Long time, no see!”

Logan grins charmingly. “Mrs. Dell. It’s great to see you again.”

“You too, sugar. I’ve just got to … go inside and … get somethin’.” Babette barely makes it back into her house before she yells, “MOREY! MOREY! RORY’S LOGAN IS BACK.”

From inside the Gilmore-Danes house, Paul Anka starts howling.

“Oh God,” Logan says, laughing, “we’re bringing down the neighborhood.”

“Please,” Rory says. “This is like early Christmas to them. Stars Hollow loves a good giddy scream-a-thon. And if you think this is the first time Babette has started a howling party for all the dogs in the neighborhood, well, you’re just wrong.”

“Honor, I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Logan says into the phone. “I’ve got to pay attention to my girl here.”

“Of course!” Honor’s voice spills out. “Of course! Oh, yay!”

Logan hangs up and puts his phone back in his pocket. Grinning, he says, “It’s a strange neck of the woods you’ve got, but it seems to grow pretty great kids.”

“You’d want to stay here?”

“We could split time between here and New York. New York for work, here for giddy scream-a-thons. Or hey, we could summer here.”

Rory laughs. “Nobody summers in Stars Hollow.”

“Nobody ‘til us. What’s that smile?”

“You’ve been thinking about where we’d live?”

“Again, it was a very long, very panicked plane ride. Too desperate?”

“Just desperate enough.”

“My sweet spot,” Logan laughs.

Rory glances back at the house. “Do you want to come in? Luke and April are making dinner, and Mom and Grandma and I were in the middle of a pretty epic Downton Abbey binge.”

“Downton Abbey? Without me?” Logan puts a hand to his heart.

Rory smirks. “Downton waits for no man. So, you up for it?”

“I can think of nothing I’d like better after an eight hour plane ride.” His expression sobers, just slightly. “But there’s something I’m thinking I should do first.”

“Oh yeah?” Rory teases. “Rake the yard? Because it’s looking pretty leafy--”

He closes the distance between them, and she thinks he’s going to kiss her. Instead, he pulls her close, a hug so tight it makes her breathless, and somehow it’s better even than a pretty happily-ever-after kiss. _I’m here, with you,_ says this embrace. _I’m not going anywhere._

Rory closes her eyes, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I’m so glad you called.” His voice is muffled in her hair.

“I almost didn’t,” she confesses. “I didn’t want to … you know, wreck your life.”

“The only way you could have wrecked my life is by not calling. And even then, that would have been on me, not you.” He kisses her forehead, then pulls back to look into her eyes. “I love you, Ace.”

Once, they’d exchanged _I love you_ s so easily; it was as much a daily given as brushing your teeth. They haven’t said it once since they crossed paths again. Rory’s almost done it so many times out of habit, catching herself at the last second and recovering with something really graceful like ‘I l--ike to think you’ll have a great day at work, buddy.’ Always teetering on the edge of what’s true.

Now, with him looking at her like he always has, like she couldn’t make him happier if she tried, Rory finally lets herself say it back. He beams at her and pulls her close, and they might as well be young again. Falling together, not quite sure where they’ll land, fingers laced tight.

 

_The End_


End file.
